Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Silence	By : thenextjourney Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 2048 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JKR owns the Harry Potter Series in its entirety, and I don't write for money.

Chapter List
- 1-Silence
- 2-Fate
- 3-Poison
- 4-Almost
- 5-Keeper
- 6-Illusion
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- 2
A/N: Hey, readers. I've finally decided to take the plunge into a multi-chaptered fic. I'm quite nervous and would love your feedback.

The idea of Oliver and Hermione really struck me a while back, and I haven't been able to let it go. I hope their relationship will move forward realistically. Because of the nature of the plot, there are OOC tendencies.

I should be able to update once every week or two, and the plot is coming to me as I go, so we'll see how far it takes us. :) I promise it will be finished, though.

WARNING: This fanfiction contains dark themes, including torture, possible noncon, and the dealings of someone who went through a tragic experience. It's also about finding hope and trust, so if you can sit through the rough times, I promise better ahead.

Also lots of swearing, violence, and smut. Happy reading.

"Godric! Heel! Damnit, heel!"

Oliver Wood was calling after his seventy pound Border Collie, who was straining at the end of his leash, his long nose pointed forward into the crisp night air. Oliver wrapped the slack around his hand and pulled back, digging the heels of his shoes between two stones in the cobbled street. The two were brought to an abrupt stop, and Godric immediately sat down and twisted his head to look at Oliver with dark eyes.

"Don't give me that look," Oliver said, kneeling down on the ground and giving the leash a gentler tug. He patted his knee, and the soft sound echoed through the deserted street. "Come here."

The collie seemed to consider for a moment before turning and sauntering back to his owner, his long, multicolored hair blowing in the breeze. He sat facing Oliver, their noses almost touching.

"If you ever want me to take you on a walk in the middle of the night again, you can't go sprinting off like that. I'm sore from Quidditch, mate. Be considerate," Oliver said, rubbing his eyes.

Twenty minutes ago, he had been woken abruptly by Godric throwing himself and his leash onto Oliver's chest. When Oliver had tried to push him away, the dog merely licked him and nudged the leash into his owner's hand. Godric had been downright insistent and fully awake, much different from the snoring, hairy heap that Godric usually was at three am. Though Oliver had the whole weekend to rest, the week's Puddlemere practice, and several bludgers, had pushed his body close to breaking point. When the dog began to howl, Oliver had grudgingly dressed and went out into the fall night.

He was brought out of his thoughts of a warm bed and a glass of brandy by Godric's tongue on his nose. He spluttered and brought his hands up.

"Bloody hell, alright, alright, I forgive you," he said, cupping the dog's ears and giving them a good shake. "Do your business and let's get back in. It's damn cold."

Godric's tail wagged leisurely as they began to walk again. The collie had seemed to calm down, but his nose still pointed determinedly in one direction. Oliver wondered if he had a special place in mind to piss, or if he just smelled a cat. The possibilities made him sleepy, so he trudged mindlessly behind Godric.

Oliver kept his wand in his left hand, tapping it against his side every now and again. Though he and Godric lived in a fairly safe wizarding area, one could never be too safe. Despite Voldemort being long gone at the hand of Harry Potter, the wizarding world was far from at ease. There were stirrings every couple of weeks, vicious killings that ripped communities apart. There were never any witnesses. The Daily Prophet speculated that the killers were 'revolutionaries' budding off from the Death Eaters.

Oliver had thought they would be caught quickly. Now he wasn't so sure. It had been nearly three years since the killings began, and not a single person had seen them. Not anyone that lived, anyways.

He had seen the horrors of the Final Battle, had carried his limp classmates back into the crumbling Great Hall, but Oliver had a hard time feeling worried. The killings had all been far from London, and seemed to target Ministry of Magic officials. He felt safe, maybe even impervious, after he and his whole team had survived the war. He felt so far removed from danger. A bunch of hooded hooligans weren't comparable to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Besides, he always had Godric as his trusted companion, and Oliver would be willing to bet ten galleons that the collie held his weight in a physical fight.

Despite that, he hoped Potter and his Aurors caught the murderers soon. It was bad for Puddlemere ticket sales, and with the game season coming up, they couldn't afford to lose more money. Darius Crawley, the captain and seeker, actually thought they had a shot at the World Cup this year. Maybe he would even ask Oliver's help on drawing up the plays, since the former Keeper had retired and Oliver had been taken off reserve…

Lost in his thoughts of Quidditch, Oliver didn't notice when Godric stopped abruptly. The leash went slack in his hand and before he knew it, he had walked straight into the dog's bronze backside.

Godric didn't move at all. He was staring at the narrow, dark space between two flats.

"Finally decide to do-"

Oliver was cut off as his dog let out a low growl, the hair on his flank beginning to rise. As if in mimicry, the hair on the back of Oliver's neck prickled as his heart rate shot through the roof. He was suddenly aware of how loudly he was breathing, how his breath fogged before him and filtered away, and the tightness of his grasp on the leash in his right hand and the wood in his left.

He raised his left arm to the darkness. He was a Gryffindor, after all. He wasn't afraid of the dark.

Probably a damn cat or rabbit.

But Godric refused to step closer or chase whatever was within the darkness. The growl deepened to a rumble, and he took a defensive stance in front of Oliver.

"Is anyone there?" Oliver called out, his voice steady despite his body's need to turn tail and get the hell out of there.

He didn't feel so sleepy or removed anymore.

Oliver's call echoed in the night; there was no response. Suddenly, Godric shot into the alley between the flats, ripping the leash from his owner's hand. Oliver let out a myriad of swears as the material burnt his flesh, and he cradled the injured hand before looking up.

His dog had disappeared.

"Godric? Godric! Get back here! Come!" he yelled, his voice rising in pitch with apprehension.

His response was absolute silence except for the wind whispering through the trees.

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath before walking straight into the alley, his wand held out.

The darkness was overwhelming; an awning between the two flats shaded it from all light. As there were no streetlamps on this particular street, and clouds covered the sky, Oliver felt as if he'd just been trapped in a very small cage. Rocks crunched beneath his feet as he tread in slowly, whistling lightly under his breath for Godric to come.

If there was some murderer hiding between the houses, he hoped to at least surprise them in the dark and get the upper hand. There was no use waiting out on the street and yelling until he was killed. The thought made his palms damp, and he clutched his wand more tightly to keep it from slipping.

Very abruptly, Oliver ran into the backside of something warm and furry. He put his hand down to feel Godric's familiar coat and let out a sigh of relief.

"What've you gotten into, boy?" he mumbled, pointing his wand toward the dog. "Lumos."

The sight that met Oliver's eyes stunned him to the point that he was sure he was dreaming. He groaned, half from nausea and half in terror.

Godric was leaning over the body of a crumpled woman lying on the ground. She was face-up, her eyes half-lidded. What was left of her destroyed clothing, hanging off her in rags, was covered in blood. One shoe was dangling off her foot, the other near her head. There was swelling and bruising covering her face in the shape of a heel, marring her pale skin beyond recognition. Her nose looked shattered and her lip was split and bleeding. What looked like slash marks covered her exposed breasts, down to her waist and the tops of her thighs.

Oliver hoped she was dead. He hoped she didn't have to suffer through the pain that those injuries would bring.

To his horror, a moment later he saw her chest rise slightly and her finger twitch. She was alive.

Godric leaned down and gently licked the temple of the woman, a small whine coming from his throat as he glanced back at Oliver.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Oliver muttered, crouching down next to the woman. He placed his hand on a part of her neck that wasn't bruised, feeling a pulse. "Shit. Can you hear me?"

"Yes…" Her response was merely a blowing of air between her lips, hardly audible. Godric licked her face some more, clearing away dirt and blood.

Oliver was frozen in indecision. If she were a muggle, he would have to take her to the nearest hospital as fast as possible. But would there be questions? Could he just drop her off? What if she was a witch? Worse yet, what if the attacker was still around? Could he beat him? Or them?

Godric finally stopped licking the woman to bend down and dig at something embedded in the dirt. What he uncovered was a beautiful wand snapped into pieces. Dragon heartstring poked out of the middle in long red strands.

She was a witch. The thought made Oliver's chest constrict. This was too close to home. This was dangerous.

They had to get out of there right now. He could apparate safely with Godric, but he suspected it would kill the woman in her weakened state. St. Mungos was in the shopping district of downtown London, a good twenty miles away from where Oliver lived.

"I need to get you to St. Mungos," he whispered urgently, trying to figure out the best way to move her. She was nearly naked, mere scraps of clothing covering her. He wasn't ready for this situation, not in a million years. He pointed his wand at her and muttered, "Curabitur." The woman's bleeding slowed to a trickle and he nodded to himself, trying to ignore how badly he was shaking.

One step at a time. What did you learn in the battle? You worked with Madame Pomfrey, you idiot...Think. Think.

"N-No…" Her voice was a sudden sigh, her swollen lips hardly moving. "No…St. Mungos…anywhere…safe…p-please…"

Oliver stared down at her, his mind working furiously. She didn't want to go to the hospital, and she was still conscious enough to reason. At most, he could abide her dying wish. At least, he didn't give a fuck where they went, as long as they weren't in that dark alley any longer.

Maybe he could help her.

Oliver glanced down at her once more and saw that her eyes were beginning to close. Later, he would remember thinking that despite the swelling and bruising, her eyes were quite brilliant.

Amber, like liquid topaz.

He didn't want to see them close, and in a panic, did the only logical thing he could think of. Godric pulled the pieces of her broken wand into his mouth as Oliver bent and picked her up in his sore arms. Her head lolled against his chest as he cradled her shoulders and knees, careful not to cause her any more pain. Her bare skin was cold to the touch.

With his wand tucked under her body, Oliver Wood rushed her back to his home, Godric bounding at his heel.
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Silence